


Some Type Of Closure

by sourtongue



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I needed an unhappy Marco so there, Minor Violence, Post-Starcrushed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 11:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10512534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourtongue/pseuds/sourtongue
Summary: I knew he wanted me to win for once but knew, just like everyone else, that I was hardly Marco Diaz anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> gonna' be a two parter bc it's not finished but i still wanted it up

Everything after that night was never the same again. Nobody could pretend everything they'd just seen hadn't happened and there were whispers that ceased as soon as my sneakers hit the bottom step. Everyone was looking at me, confusion and anger plastered onto their faces, like I'd done something wrong by going after her or that it was my fault she even had feelings for me in the first place. I hadn't known until she told me and even then, it was too late.

It didn't happen immediately. It took a few weeks for some but eventually, I started seeing everybody less and less. Pony Head had left all together in one shot and at first, I was actually wishing she'd stayed; though it was a fleeting wish. Janna managed to ease her way out of my life and I only noticed because she returned everything she'd taken a liking to stealing. Jackie took her time and I knew it was because she felt bad for me but I only felt bad for her, because she still had to deal with me. I didn't really want her to be with me while I was like this, depressed, shut out, a corpse with a heartbeat. I loved being with her and everything that we had was amazing but this wasn't fair to her; and I almost thanked her when she finally broke up with me.

I couldn't keep up with it and I was thankful beyond relief that it was summer break because then, there was no obligation to socialize. I could be alone and not worry about what people were thinking about me or her or the gaping hole in the house that had yet to be fixed. I could pretend I wasn't a part of anything and that I didn't have to be a friend, an ex-boyfriend, a best friend, or even a son, I could just be exactly what I felt. I could be **_nothing._**

And I was. I was **_nothing_** for a while. Being ** _nothing_** was fantastic and I was able to ignore the silence that filled the gaps in the atmosphere where her presence used to be, I was able to ignore the sparkling twin counter-top in the bathroom that was no longer cluttered with her belongings and the fact that my handheld vacuum could still float about, I was able to ignore almost every thought that etched it's way into my mind chanting :  
'You'll never see her again.'  
'This is all your fault for not realizing.'  
'Your girlfriend left because she got tired of you.'  
'Your existence at this point is almost as questionable as St-'

 

Some were difficult to get passed and I found that I couldn't say that name anymore. I wouldn't say that name anymore. It never made it out of my mouth and instead, sat in my throat stubbornly until I swallowed it. Saying that name would make me **_something_** again and I wasn't ready to be anything more than what I was, I was comfortable being **_nothing._**

The only thing that I still had, well, what I allowed myself to keep, was karate. It got me as close to being **_something_** without actually becoming it and that was perfect to me. Perfect until I realized how much everything had been eating away at me. I wasn't myself anymore and it was visible to everybody around me that I wasn't even the same person. I'd grown cold, harsh, and quiet. Everything that required **_feeling_** , I didn't want a part of because feeling meant no longer being **_nothing_** and when you can feel, you can lose things. 

I didn't want to lose any more than I'd already lost.

Jeremy was among those who'd seen the cracks in me, pointed out all the broken pieces and laughed in my face about it because becoming **_nothing_** had made me weak and it showed in everything that I did. I tried, with whatever I had left of me, I tried to fight him but it was hard. Harder than it'd ever been because with every punch I threw, I thought of her and with every kick I gave, I thought of her, and with every thought I had, I missed every attack and received them all in return. 

Every punch that hit me, he knew I was thinking of her, and every kick that knocked the air from my lungs, he knew I was thinking of her. All of this thinking was making me feel again and I couldn't do that, couldn't allow myself to think about the room with the hole in it, couldn't allow myself think about her laughter that didn't ring through the house, her voice that didn't wake me in my sleep, the picture my parents put up of her that I took down and hid in my desk drawer. I couldn't think/couldn't feel/wouldn't think/wouldn't feel. I needed to be and stay, **_nothing_** ; and repressed the wet burn that began to form in my tear ducts. If I cried, it'd be from the pain of getting my ass kicked, not from the pain of...

_..losing her._

The kick to the center of my chest, left me gasping for breath as I knelt on the floor. The gloved hand that met my face had a helluva weight behind it, too much for an eight year old and it was obvious to me alone, that he'd taken to using those gold knuckles again. Everything hurt and there he was, just standing there without a drop of sweat on his face, but holding a grin that was so disgustingly smug that for a second, I thought I'd vomit on the dojo floor.

He was getting a kick out of it. Literally. This whole thing was a piece of cake to the kid and it only fueled his eight year old fire when I got back to my feet, steadying myself. To my left, Sensei looked like he was already giving up on me, like everybody else had already done over the past month and a half. It was sad to say that I wasn't surprised but it was sadder that I felt bad about it. Sensei was a cool guy and I knew he wanted me to win for once but knew, just like everyone else, that I was hardly Marco Diaz anymore. At this point, I'd become a shell in a dozen red sweaters, and currently, a shell sporting a red belt and a swelling black eye.

"Diaz. Don't push yourself."

I had to laugh at that. It was hollow, and cold, but a laugh nonetheless. I wasn't even pushing myself and here Sensei was, treating me like I was going to break and shatter if I did anything as just lift a finger. I wasn't going to break, for all he knew, I was already broken. I was already shattered. This was nothing. So I tightened my belt, drew a deep breath and took my stance across from the snobby kid who barely met my shoulder. 

He looked at me like I was a joke and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel like one but the moment Sensei allowed us to begin, I gave it the best I could. I was fast and strong but Jeremy was short and had the real advantage here, instantly bringing me to my knees after kicking swiftly at my side and I was down on the ground before I could spell C-O-R-N. From my position I saw Sensei pinch the bridge of his nose, disappointment practically living on every pore of his face. As I got up, pain shot through my side and with gritted teeth, I glared in Jeremy's direction as he erupted in laughter.

"Oh man, this is sad. I knew you were weak, Marco but this really is something. That **_Star_** girl really did a number on you didn't she? I mean, word travels fast and from what I heard she ran right out of your life. Is that why you're so weak now? Because your little crazy magic girlfriend ditched you?"

It didn't register until I'd already charged at the twerp, easily knocking him to the ground and allowing my fist to make contact with his face over and over again. He said _her_ name. He said _her_ name. He said _her_ _something_ again. I was **_feeling_** again. And it hurt like a bitch. There was more pain in **_feeling_** than there was in my black eye, my bruised side or my fist that couldn't stop flying at this kid's face all together. He was shielding himself to the best of his ability, at one point causing me to punch at the gold knuckles under his gloves. 

I really didn't want to stop. I wanted to break his face, his nose, give him a black eye or maybe two for good measure but there was blood on my knuckles already and I supposed that'd have to suffice. Large hands met my shoulders and literally dragged me off, allowing Jeremy to scramble to his feet and flick his petrified gaze between me and the blood that was the pouring from his mouth. Two teeth were out of place, probably broken and loosened from the gum; I was actually proud of that, in between the rage and adrenaline that coursed through me. 

"We need to talk after I take care of Jeremy."

Sensei wasn't proud of that, I could tell by the grip on my shoulders and the tone in his voice. After dragging me to the back of dojo, he left me in a chair of the makeshift office with my bloody knuckles and my thoughts. I'd beaten up Jeremy Birnbaum. The stupid eight year old that had been harassing me ever since I joined the dojo and I just knocked two of his teeth out because he said her name, because he knew, and because now; Sensei knew.

I didn't ask what Sensei did with Jeremy when the door opened and he came back in, pulling a chair beside mine and sitting in it. I didn't care to be honest. He deserved it, after everything that kid did, he deserved it. Well, I thought so at least.

"Marco,"

It came out with a sigh and I didn't want to look at him because I knew he was staring at my knuckles, quickly bruising and blood drying. I really wish he didn't pull me off, I wanted to keep punching Jeremy until he was nothing more than a pulp at my fingertips. 

"What's going on with you? You've been acting very different lately and after what Jeremy said, I really noticed I hadn't seen Sta-"

No, not him too.

"Please. Don't.. say her name."

I extended my fingers, un-clenching my fist and bending them; it definitely hurt. 

"I'm.. sorry. Can you tell me what happened?" 

I don't want to talk. I really don't want to talk about this. Not now, not ever. Talking is just reminders that it happened; and I could really go without reminders that it ever happened, that she ever existed.

"I don't really want to."

I heard him shift in the chair next to mine, sighing. 

"After the way you beat up Jeremy, I think you need to."

Flex. Unflex. I wish I still had friends to brag to about my bruised knuckles. This makeshift office has too many smells. I want to go home now.

"She left."


End file.
